


Secret Confessions of Eos

by DiamondDustOhSnap, UnsteadyGenius



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Drama, F/M, HighSpecs, Hurt, Loss, Lust, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Promptis - Freeform, Rating May Change, Relationships to be added - Freeform, Romance, Secrets, lunyx
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:50:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondDustOhSnap/pseuds/DiamondDustOhSnap, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnsteadyGenius/pseuds/UnsteadyGenius
Summary: Citizens of Eos submit confessions of love, loss, secrets, and revelations in this collection of anonymous first-person accounts.





	1. A Note From the Authors

Everyone’s got a secret to confess—and we are on a mission to find them. We have spent the last several years gathering confessional stories from carefully selected individuals who have agreed to let us into the deepest and darkest parts of their lives, all under a veil of anonymity. We spent countless hours poring through their letters, texts, emails, and transcribing phone calls. What we came up with is a comprehensive look at the complexities of what makes us who we are: the things that we don’t say. 

Some of our confessors come from the highest echelons of society, others from the dregs of history. These are men and women who have seen and experienced things we can’t even begin to imagine, but sometimes their most interesting confessions come from the simplest moments. 

A personal revelation while fishing. A cup of a coffee shared with a new ally who just might, maybe, prove to be something more. A moment of pure grief taking hold during a routine jaunt to the local grocery store. 

We have edited everything for grammar, spelling, and capitalizations (King of Fishing was, in particular, not a fan), but the voice behind each story is genuine. Some even intertwine with one another, giving us a unique glimpse into both sides of the story. Some are humorous, others almost painful. Each one is a privileged glimpse into a life lived—and sometimes lost. 

We hope you enjoy this as much as we have enjoyed compiling it. 

_~ Your Faithful Authors_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: King of Fishing talks about hugs.


	2. Confessions on Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King of Fishing tells us about a painful memory about his father.

_From King of Fishing_

Most people who know me would be really surprised that I’m taking part in something like this. I’m not that talkative IRL. But what they probably didn’t consider is that I actually have a lot going on in my head. Too much. That’s why I don’t talk a lot. 

So then I get this request to confess my secrets. It’s gonna be anonymous, but it’s gonna be public. A chance to tell my story, without really telling my story. 

Well, guess what. I’m game. 

Funny thing is, I didn’t know what my first confession should really be. I guess a lot of things in life are scaring me right now, and I don’t wanna show it. Is that a confession? 

Actually, here’s one: I avoid hugging people, even when I really want to. 

Like when my dad sat me down for a talk the other day. He told me that since I’m off to get married soon, I need to start thinking about taking life more seriously. I had to start growing up and acting like an adult and thinking of people other than myself. I got angry—like really angry. He’s been absent for days, not even a text to say hello, how are you, and then he just thinks he can tell me what to do like that? I got up without a word (surprise, surprise) and left the room. 

He walked—or actually, limped—after me as fast as he could. Down this long hall. I could hear him behind me, he called out my name. But I just kept going. I didn’t turn around. I got to an elevator and pressed the down button. He caught up just as the doors opened and I stepped in. 

As I pressed the ground floor, I finally met his eyes. He had this expression, like he was so sorry and wanted to say something really badly. He had tears filling his eyes. I don’t remember when I last saw him cry. Maybe when my mom died. The doors started closing. 

For a moment, I almost wanted to press the open button and run out and hug him, say I was sorry for making him walk after me down this damn long hallway when I knew it probably hurt. I wanted to say I will do my best to be better. That he was right, I have to grow up. 

Instead I just let the doors close. 

So yeah, there’s a confession. I guess I’m starting out to be pretty terrible, right? Maybe that’s just it: confessions aren’t meant to be flattering. 

My best friend, P, he always tells me I’m too hard on myself. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without him. When I really start to hate myself, he makes me feel like maybe I’m not the worst person in the world. I don’t even have to explain anything to him, he just knows. 

Like after this incident with my dad, I went to an arcade and played a shooting game. P found me there—he’s a really great shot—and joined in without a word. Then at the end, he put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze, looked me in the eye like he was saying “I understand, dude.” 

Here’s another confession: That was another moment I wanted to hug someone and didn’t… 

_~ King of Fishing_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Glasses Guy gives us a glimpse into loneliness.


	3. Confessions on Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glasses Guy recounts a painful memory about a love lost.

_From Glasses Guy_

My position in life has rarely afforded me the benefits of being an open book. I was always seen as the mature one, keeping everything (and everyone) together. Not that I mind—I take great pride in my ability to lead. But it does come with its challenges. 

I believe I will find this exercise in anonymous honesty rather cathartic. So, let us begin with my most pressing confession at the moment: I feel lonely. 

Or, more accurately, I have felt lonely all of my life. I have my brothers, who may not share my blood but we are as close as any family. They mean the world to me. I suppose that might be a confession in itself, as I have never told them this. As I said, my position in life rarely affords me this type of honesty. 

It is truest with N, the one that I not only work for as an advisor, but have helped raise. We were both very young when we met—him only four and myself six, if I recall correctly—but our mental age differs by far more than that. I’ve always been rather ahead of my peers, and N is… well, his heart is most certainly in the right place. But as his mentor, it is particularly difficult to express a feeling such as loneliness. I believe it would be awkward for him to hear such things coming from me. 

The youngest of these brothers, P, is very well-meaning. No doubt he would hear me out, and perhaps even share some of his own feelings of isolation (which I suspect he has much of). But our dynamic is thwarted somewhat by my urge to parent him too, much like I do with N. 

The eldest of us, G, is perhaps the closest thing I have to a confidant. He would listen, naturally, and is always ready to offer advice, but he is unlikely to reciprocate. I’m certain there is more to him than meets the eye, but he prefers to present himself as far more superficial. It’s his way of protecting himself and staying true to his own duties to keep us (and namely, N) safe from harm. 

And so, I am left to my own devices—which means I hardly give much consideration to how I feel. I read a lot. I cook. I throw myself into my work. And yet, sometimes, I find myself wondering… is there something more? Am I missing out? It’s difficult to have long and sustainable relationships with a role as all-consuming as mine, though I am no stranger to a warm body on occasion. I’m also no stranger to waking to an empty space next to me, or slipping out in the middle of the night. Mind you, these interactions are always preceded by honesty, so that no one gets hurt. So far, this has worked well for me. 

Except... I’m afraid I’m not being completely honest right now. I shall try better. 

There was once a girl who was a member of the Kingsglaive. C, we’ll call her. She was the only one I shared consistent “meetings” with, for a time. Her hair was dark and her eyes brown, and she had a certain innocence about her, despite being a powerful magic user. 

We once had a conversation about the future. We had enjoyed a lovely evening together in her room, and had gone up to the rooftop of the building in which she lived. We shared a bottle of wine, and I suppose our tongues loosened a little as we looked out across the lights of Insomnia. 

“Think you’ll always live here?” she asked. 

“I suppose I will,” I replied. “Why?”

“I don’t know… I just think it’s kind of sad. All of these buildings, and not a tree or park in sight for miles. Where I grew up, there was always somewhere to play.” 

“We’re too old to play.”

“What about kids?”

“Children? I’m hardly thinking of that.”

She looked at me at this moment like she was seeing something for the first time, and she wasn’t certain how she felt about it. I suppose I had been naive. I had assumed our arrangement was clear enough, but it got more and more confusing as we spent time together—more time than I had ever promised her. More time than I was meant to allow for myself. 

“So you don’t want to have children?” she pressed. 

“I never said that. But if I do consider it, it shall be in the far distance.”

“You seem like you’d make a great father. I’ve seen how you act with N.”

“Let’s not talk about this anymore, if I may.” 

“Fine. Let’s talk about something else then.”

“Certainly.”

She paused, thought about it a moment, and then: “What are we?” 

I could feel her eyes as they bore into me, but I wouldn’t look at her till she placed two fingers on my jaw and turned my face toward her. 

“Please, C, can we not?” I implored. 

“Why not? Why can’t we talk about it? We’ve been spending so much time together.” 

“It was not meant to be—”

“—something serious? I know. But you can’t tell me that things haven’t changed.”

I thought about this before responding, considering a life that included her more frequently. Where would I find the time? How would I prioritize her with N and my duties? Where would she fit in? 

No, it felt too difficult. Not impossible, but more difficult than I was willing to accommodate. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, and it seemed to carry the weight of rejection because she snapped her face forward, staring across the city in rigid silence for a good while. 

Finally, she spoke. 

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” Her voice was like ice. 

“If that is what you prefer…” I stood up, waited a moment to see if there was anything else she wanted to say—a change of heart, perhaps—and then walked to the rooftop’s exit. She had made her choice. 

As I was about to walk through the door, I glanced back at her. Her rigidness had crumbled, and she looked so small as she covered her face with her hands, her back curved and shaking. A part of me wanted to go back and comfort her, tell her that perhaps I could try. 

And perhaps I really could have. 

But in a few day’s time, I found out she was dead. Gone, just like that, during a routine mission. I heard that a few other members of the Glaives were trying to view her body at the coroner’s, two men who had been close to her—her own “brothers,” if you will. I followed them, thinking that perhaps I wanted to see her as well. I don’t know why—proof perhaps? I hadn’t even cried at that point. Maybe I didn’t believe it. 

I lost my courage though. Just days ago, I had seen the slender curves of her body as it trembled under me. I had kissed it in ways I never kissed anyone else. She was soft and beautiful, and I wanted to maintain that memory. I waited some distance away until the two Glaives came back out. They looked shaken, white as ghosts. It was real; she was gone. 

I slipped through the streets as fast as I could, running toward her building. I entered and ran up the seemingly endless flights of stairs until I got to the roof. I went to our spot and sat there for hours, still unable to cry, but feeling the full weight of loneliness that I hadn’t realized she had lifted from me these past few months. It pressed back down now with every breath. 

They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I learned that lesson that day. 

I never told my brothers about this “relationship,” or whatever you may call it. Love story? Instead, I quietly endure a lingering loneliness. I remind myself that it’s still better than if I had fully opened up to C on the roof that night, and lost her shortly after. That pain, I cannot fathom. 

Perhaps loneliness has its merits after all. 

_~ Glasses Guy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Lady in White divulges the darker desires she never shows in public.


	4. Confessions on Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady in White shares a passionate moment with someone she shouldn't.

_From Lady in White_

I lead an interesting life. All at once, everybody expects that I have no secrets; it’s all laid to bare. And yet, if I were to truly show all of my sides, no one would want to see it. It would only disappoint them—disgust them even. 

After all, who would want to envision a so-called “pure” woman as myself, a healer, in the throes of passion in a dark and dingy hallway of a seedy bar? Sweat trickling down my neck, sweat trickling down his, my tongue tracing the salty trails in the groove of his collarbone. 

Because that is what happened last night. And by the Astrals, I fucking loved it. 

Oh, I like to swear too. No one would much appreciate that either. 

But before you jump to the conclusion that I am a pure and virginal woman being awakened by the powers of lust, let me stop you right there. I knew what I was doing; it was he who was being awakened by me. 

You see, I frightened him. He was not considered of high standing, but he was a member of the Kingsglaive and that afforded him some status—I shall refer to him as such, as the Glaive. Like myself, he had a mind of his own, but he simply wasn’t as talented at hiding what others should not see. I liked that about him very much, that he didn’t need to hide. He could be free, get in trouble, and bounce right back. There was no long-term consequence to his reputation. What a feeling that must be! 

Except around me, he seemed very much in chains. He wouldn’t relax, wouldn’t treat me as a woman—only as my title. Fuck my title. Underneath, not that far below, I am fire and darkness and rage. My voice may be soft, but I know how to scream. My hair might be golden as the high noon sun, but I am no angel. I may look like I could be snapped like a twig, but I assure you, I am titanium. It takes a lot to break me. 

The Glaive would not break me. I would break him. 

I caught him unexpectedly in the bar that he liked to frequent. I had to be in disguise, lest I be seen and my precious reputation tarnished. I approached him with two shot glasses of something stiff, none of that sweet girly crap. I slammed the glasses down on the table in front of him. 

“You look thirsty,” I said. He already had a drink he was nursing. 

“Lady L? What are you doing here?” 

Gods, he looked so shocked it was already worth the effort! 

“I decided to take the night off and go out for a drink. Don’t be rude, I bought one for you too.”

He hesitated, wondering if this would be appropriate. With a slow hand, he took hold of a shot glass. 

“Well then. Cheers, I guess.”

We downed our shots, and I gestured to the bartender. 

“How about something that takes a little longer to drink?” I said to him. 

“Planning on staying a bit?” the Glaive said. 

“Just a little while.”

The bartender returned with a large pint and I paid, leaving him a generous tip. I don’t believe he was used to that treatment. 

The Glaive sat across from me, very silent. He didn’t know what to make of this, and it only drove me all the more wild inside. Outside, though, I was cool and calm and composed. As always. 

“So this is how the other half lives,” I said. 

“Yeah. Not the most sanitary, but it does the trick.”

Was he expecting me to be disgusted? Was it a challenge? I ran my hands across the table and looked at my fingertips. 

“Only a little dirty. Nothing I can’t handle.” 

He took a sip. He was clearly nervous, and I found it adorable. I bet he didn’t know if he wanted to run away or kiss me. I thought I’d make it easier for him. 

“I want you to kiss me.” 

He choked on his drink, spatterings of beer covering the table. I laughed, small and quiet and goddamn demure, because men like that sort of thing, don’t they? 

“Excuse me?” he said. 

“You heard it right. Do you want to?”

I took far too much pleasure in playing this game. I could see his mind going back and forth between his options. Acceptance, rejection. Acceptance, rejection. 

“I, uh, would want to kiss a woman as beautiful as you, yes.” He was stumbling. It was fucking adorable. “But I respect you, and I really shouldn’t do… that.”

“Disrespect me then.” 

“Lady L…”

“No. Just L. Forget the rest.” 

He put down his drink and steadied his hands. He was very still for a long time and I was nearly growing impatient. Then, as if something overtook him, his hands shot up and cupped my face and he kissed me. 

He fucking kissed me. 

Right there, in the open, in front of the world to see, he stuck his tongue into my mouth. I met it and battled with it fiercely. He tasted like beer and the remnants of peanuts he had been recently snacking on. Then he pulled away just as suddenly as he had initiated. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

“I don’t know why you stopped.” 

“Uh… we’re out in public, you’re an important person, and you’re engaged—”

“Spare me the details.” 

“You shouldn’t be here.” He shook his head and rubbed his temples. “I’m going to the washroom.”

I watched him walk away, licking my lips, and thought, no: the night will not end this way. I sprung up from my hair, chugged half of my drink, and briskly follow him up the stairs and down a hallway to the washroom. Just as he was about to enter, I grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around. 

It was my turn to surprise him with a kiss. I was probably too harsh, too sloppy, but I didn’t care. I pushed him against the wall and kissed him like there was no way in hell he had a choice this time. And he didn’t. 

He kissed me back, and he was beginning to sweat. It was so fucking hot in this bar with only rickety fans for any air circulation. All I could taste was him, all I could smell was his breath and the faintest scent of aftershave mixed with his natural scent. 

As beads of sweat trickled down our faces, I moved my mouth across his jaw and down his neck, then traced my tongue across the salty groove of his collarbone. My hands moved down to his hips and pulled him closer. Maybe he thought it was too much, because that was the moment he took his escape. 

“I’m sorry,” he said as he wriggled free, panting. “We can’t.” 

I stared at him in disbelief. Had I not shown him that we very easily could? Take me now. I’m here and I want it. Take me back to your place and fuck me senseless, you idiot. 

But no. Some moral code of conduct intervened. Or perhaps he saw me the same way as everyone else did: an angel, a savior. Too pure for this world; too pure for a fuck. 

I had my pride. I wasn’t about to beg and plead as he descended the stairs. I waited awhile and then followed, downed what was left of my drink on the way out, and went home. 

What can I say. I hate him now. I think about him when I am alone at night and I moan to thoughts of him, and still I hate him. I had never wanted anyone this much before, and still I hate him. Whenever I see him now, I wish for nothing more than to sink my teeth into him and show him my hate. He might hate me too, for putting him in this situation. 

I bet you want to hear about my fiance now too, but that is for another time. 

This, this is about the Glaive who broke my heart. 

_~ Lady in White_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: A childhood trauma breaks a young boy's heart.


End file.
